


The story of a bloodthirsty madman named Dracula of Wallachia

by Eshnoazot



Series: Context needed. [2]
Category: Young Dracula
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Family Bonding, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 12:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eshnoazot/pseuds/Eshnoazot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Little brother, have you ever heard of the poem ‘The story of a bloodthirsty madman named Dracula of Wallachia’?” Ingrid’s lips curled up into a sneering smirk that immediately set off warning bells in her brother’s head.</p>
<p>“No,” Vlad warily responded, “Should I know it?”</p>
<p>“It’s a 1,070 line long autobiographical poem written in a stanzaic form about Dad’s unlife.” Ingrid’s smile grew at her brother’s abject horror, “107 10-line stanzas.”</p>
<p>Vlad gaped at the door incredulously.</p>
<p>“Accompanied by music.” She added helpfully.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The story of a bloodthirsty madman named Dracula of Wallachia

“What exactly is going on in there?” Vlad muttered darkly as he stumbled towards the throne room with bleary eyes. It seemed that once again, as soon as he had dared to hope that his father was once again acting like a reasonable person, the most fearsome vampire in existence would launch into a dramatic scheme and disrupt life for weeks.

The Chosen one took a few minutes to straighten his shirt and let out another yawn as he stretched his sore muscles and eyed the door to the throne room suspiciously.

 “It’s 6am; why does Dad want me anyway?” Vlad muttered once more, “It’s even a _‘proper vampiric bedtime’_ Figures.”

 “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.”

Vlad’s eyed snapped to Ingrid’s cheerfully dark face; she loitered near the doors like a predator, and for a sinking moment, he realized that he was the prey. Her strangely out of character cheer was alarming, especially as she beckoned him with a smile curling at the edges and souring with each of his steps.

“Oh?” Vlad paused and rubbed his eyes with a sigh as he tried to disguise his unrest, “What exactly is happening?”

“A wandering German minstrel found his way into the school, “Ingrid announced in glee, “He’s been entertaining Dad _all night_.”

Vlad frowned, “Isn’t that a good thing? We have a free babysitter for Dad; this means I can go down to the cinema and watch the newest Marvel movie.”

“Little brother, have you ever heard of the _poem ‘The story of a bloodthirsty madman named Dracula of Wallachia’_?” Ingrid’s lips curled up into a sneering smirk that immediately set off warning bells in her brother’s head.

“No,” Vlad warily responded, “Should I know it?”

“It’s a 1,070 line long autobiographical poem written in a stanzaic form about _Dad’s unlife_.” Ingrid’s smile grew at her brother’s abject horror, “ _107_ 10-line stanzas.”

Vlad gaped at the door incredulously.

“ _Accompanied by music_.” She added helpfully.

“Oh _blood and bats_ ,” Vlad swore, “How mad would he be if I left and headed down to the comic book store for a few hours?”

“He woke me up with his wretched complaining to wake you up,” Ingrid narrowed her eyes at him with a bitter tone, “And don’t think I’m going to suffer because _you_ don’t want _father-heir bonding time_.

“ _Ingrid_ -” Vlad pleaded as Ingrid laughed and dashed forward to open the doors with a deepening smirk. Automatically he gaped in betrayal and glanced at her miserably as he tried to remember what he did, or didn’t do to get back on her bad side. Then again, it was also likely that he hadn’t committed any offense, and she as simply feeling bored by the whole event.

 Then again, it was also just as likely that their loving, nurturing parental figure has said something to her, and she needed to take out her anger on _someone_.

“ _Vladdy’s here_!”

Vlad stared at his sister in horror as she yelled and grinned at their father; slouching across his throne with his hand clasped in amusement.

“ _Vladimir_!” The piercing yell of excitement from Count Dracula made Vlad visibly cringe, as Ingrid snickered.

“I’ll get you back for this,” Vlad glowered at Ingrid, “ _No one_ deserves this.”

“Give it your best shot _wimpire_.”

“Vladimir!” His father called again, from his relaxed perch on his throne, “Come, come! Herr Beheim is an utterly dazzling poet, and his subject matter is simply _captivating_.”

“Of course Dad.” Vlad attempted a smile, and strode through the room to stand beside his father awkwardly. The minstrel was a tall man, with vampiric attire that outdated even the oldest of his father’s clothing, but besides the cocky smile on his lips, he was an unremarkable vampire.

“Vladimir, meet Herr Beheim,” The Count grinned widely, “An old... _friend_ of mine, from back in the day. We caused such utter chaos together. Truly, the highlight of our escapees was the autumn of 1493; we hunted the Holy Roman Emperor and drained him dry!”

“It would have been a more entertaining night, if your father hadn’t insisted that he amputate a leg for a take-away snack,” The poet announced in a dry and thoroughly amused tone, “He made me wait while he went and borrowed an axe off one of the local peasants.”

“I never had the intention of _returning_ the axe.” The Count sniffed in offense, “If I remember it correctly- you were the one who threw the axe back to that snivelling thrall.”

“ _Into his back_ ,” The poet pointed out, “I’m not sure if that counts.”

“Are you two finished reminiscing about the dark ages or should I come back later?” Vlad frowned, and look distinctly unsettled by the direction of the conversation.

“Vlad, where’s your sense of Dracula pride! The _cruelty_! The _delight in the suffering of others_!?”

“I must have left it in my other cape.”

“ _Hmmhp_ ,” The Count slumped in his chair, “No doubt I have been too soft on the boy! Too lenient! I have spoiled that child rotten, in the absence of his witch of a mother.”

“He must have inherited all your worst traits,” Herr Behaim sighed, “Your _charity_ , and your _social conscience_.”

“Are you sure we’re talking about the same person?” Vlad looked incredulous, “As in, my father, the _prince of darkness and bloodthirsty vampire_?”

“Your father has an _extensive record_ of helping the needy and downtrodden,” Herr Beheim grimaced in clear disgust.

“I deny all allegations of my, _ugh_ , virtues,” The Count looked distinctly incredulous, “This is _sheer falsehood_!”

“Don’t trust him,” Beheim smirked, “I think he’s trying to set a good example for his hell raising heir. Ask him about the feast for the poor he held.”

“Dad?” Vlad tentively asked, in clear disbelief.

The Count narrowed his eyes dangerously, “I won’t have you corrupting my offspring with your _fanciful tales_! Vladdy, don’t believe a word he says!”

“ _You held a feast for the poor_?” Vlad gaped incredulously.

“Traitor! My own son and heir!” The Count covered his face with his hands and groaned, “Where’s the family loyalty! The trust in one’s- _I am deeply hurt Vladimir_ , that you can’t trust your own father’s word!”

Vlad looked expectantly towards the minstrel.

“Dracula was _very concerned_ about his subjects, and he noticed that the poor, vagrants, beggars and cripples had become very numerous in his land,” Her Beheim dramatically announced, “He issued an invitation to all the poor and sick in Wallachia to come to Târgoviste for a great feast announcing that no one should go hungry in his land. They arrived in the city and were ushered into a great hall where a fabulous feast was prepared for them. He allowed his guests ate and drank late into the night!”

“You took an active interest into the welfare of your people?” Vlad stared at his father incredulously, “You felt _compassion_ for the most vulnerable people of society?”

“We all make _foolish mistakes_ in our youth!” The Count exclaimed, “ _Vladdy_ -“

Beheim laughed, “Dracula himself made an appearance during the course of the night, and he announced _'What else do you desire? Do you want to be without cares, lacking nothing in this world?’_ ”

“Stop this smear campaign at once!” The Count announced furiously, “I have a reputation of treachery and bloodlust to uphold, and I won’t have you coming into my castle and filling my heir’s head with these do-gooder ideas!”

Vlad offered a smile at his father, “You created a _Medieval soup kitchen_? I-“

“To be fair,” Beheim continued with a shrug, “He did ordered the hall boarded up and set on fire. Something about doing it in order that they represent no further burden to others so that no one will be poor in his realm.”

Vlad’s face fell, and he sighed once more at the crushing feeling in his chest. He glanced away in disappointment, but was sure that his father has seen the crushing disappointment cross his face before he moved.

“And the hat incident!” Herr Beheim hissed in disgust, “Some Italian ambassadors were sent to him. When they bowed and removed their hats, they kept on the berets beneath them. When your father asked them why they did not take their caps off they said it was their custom and y’know what your father said to them?”

“I can imagine.” Vlad responded dryly.

“Tell him!” Herr Beheim hooted in laughter.

“I said- I said ‘ _I wish to reinforce this for you_.’” The Count announced miserably.

“He had their caps nailed firmly on their heads so that their caps would not fall off and their custom would remain,” The poet cackled, “Thus he _reinforced it_."

“Yes, yes,” The Count waved his hand impatiently, pointedly not looking at his son, “Do get on with it; let’s skip the pleasantries and return to the part where I’m dipping my bread into the blood of my victims!”

“As you wish, your grandness,” The poet dropped into another deep bow, missing the teenaged vampire dramatically rolling his eyes at the excessive bootlicking, “I come entirely for your pleasure.”

“I see.” The Count stated, as he sneaked a look at his son’s morose face.

“ _It was his pleasure and gave him courage_ , _to see human blood flow,”_ The poet continued dramatically, “ _And it was his custom, To wash his hands in it, As it was brought to the table.”_

“You used to wash your hands in blood?” Vlad announced with a grimace, “What happened to ‘don’t play with your food’?”

The Count looked faintly alarmed, “Whoever told you that nonsense! I’ve always said, the fun is in playing with your food, but one should never become _involved_ with it.”

Vlad’s grimace worsened as he tried to distract himself with wistful thoughts of his coffin.

The Count frowned, “Beheim! Start from the beginning! My offspring needs to learn about the _true vampiric_ nature of his father, and I would hardly deprive him of your marvellous rendition and eloquent tongue.”

Vlad sighed and relaxed into a chair. The idea of listening to a thousand line long poem was painfully boring, but he could relax with the knowledge that the next few hours would numb his mind eventually.

“Vladimir, _sit_ , and I’ll have your sister fetch you an evening meal,” The Count’s tone left no room for argument, “ _INGRID! WHERE ARE YOU, USELESS GIRL.”_

Suddenly, the day promised to become a _much much_ more painful experience.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I'm on a "True Facts about Dracula" spree.  
> But yeah, The story of a bloodthirsty madman named Dracula of Wallachia is an actual poem, written by Michael Beheim. He performed it across many courts, including that of the Holy Roman Emperor Fredrick the 3rd. (Who did actually die of blood loss! Although the presence of vampires is one which remains unconfirmed...)  
> Also, supposedly, both the "feast for the poor" and "hat story" are true. Although variations exist, so they could also be propaganda.


End file.
